


Blame Daniel!

by moth2fic



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-21
Updated: 2005-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is sad and angry about Daniel's Ascendancy. He isn't the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame Daniel!

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever fanfic. Just saying.
> 
> Thanks to Fledge for the beta.

So we were all devastated - only some were more devastated than others. Me, anyway.  
Well, so we were all part of a small happy team and one of our members was leaving - pretty permanently and under quite upsetting circumstances. So we were all going to be upset. But how do you think it feels when your lover, the light of your life, swans off into some mystical "ascendancy" without so much as a proper goodbye; at least the sort of goodbye that would involve kisses and hugs and tears and protestations of undying love? And when it is totally but totally impossible to discuss this with any of your so-called buddies or even your psychiatrist? I'll tell you how it feels: like being shat on from a great height and then hung out to dry. So I was definitely more devastated than they were but of course I couldn't say so.

Hammond felt we all needed some sort of compassionate leave or R and R or time out or whatever. The rest wanted to hang out together and talk about fond memories. Not a good idea. They assumed I was just being grouchy old me and let me go fishing. On my own. With my memories.   
I think the fish were in mourning too. At least, they didn't bite, and I got the impression they were lurking on the bottom, keeping out of the way, all sad and quiet and confused. Like me.

I was beginning to get my head round the situation, or so I thought. I noticed small things like the weather and the trees again. I even slept occasionally. Then when I was sitting on the jetty, not really fishing, just going through the motions, my cell phone vibrated than warbled. I glanced about, the way you do when you think it can't possibly be your phone, looking for the inconsiderate bastard whose calls were disturbing the peace of the lake. It was me. How I knew was: there was no-one else there.  
A mocking bird laughed and I considered slinging the phone in the water but my hand and my ear seemed to be on automatic pilot and I answered. Maybe I shouldn't have done. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference and he'd have arrived anyway. Heaven knows. Does that mean those who have ascended know? Well, if they do, I hope they realise that mocking bird had more sense than any of us.

It was Hammond, of course. Nobody else would dare phone me while I'm a) on leave and b) fishing  
Apparently there was some sort of paper emergency which entailed getting my signature on some reports that would ensure the survival of the universe- or at least the president., or maybe just the airforce….My language must have shocked the fish, if they were listening. As usual, I allowed myself to be persuaded that what the top brass wanted must be important. And that our collective continued employment depended on my name appended to these papers. I did, however, stipulate that I was remaining on leave, with the fish, and that the said papers should come to me. I thought I'd created a nice little problem for them - man on compassionate leave refuses to come to work……what would they do? Turns out they had it all sussed. Their man would deliver papers to lakeside at approximately 2100 hours, same day. Would I co-operate? Can't remember reply - grumpy and probably unprintable but must have been co-operative   
enough, because at 2100 hours I heard an engine shattering the silence and worrying the fish. Cursed but opened door. Bad move. There he was, carrying a briefcase and as immaculately dressed as ever - our man from the Pentagon. Actually, I thought, poor bastard, he was there and he knew him too and he had as much right to be devastated as any of us and I bet no-one offered him any kind of leave - not even long enough to cry. So at first I was inclined to be if not friendly, at least neutral.

We looked through the papers and I scrawled my name beside various crosses in those boxes that are never big enough for a real signature. Can't really see why they couldn't have forged them. Then I offered him coffee. Used the good stuff left from when we spent a week up here earlier in the year after a particularly fraught mission. Kept it in the freezer as per instructions so that it tasted as good as the day it was ground. Expected, I suppose, some sort of compliment but got a kind of snarl - how come I had the kind of coffee only a guy like him could have appreciated. And was I trying to say something by serving it? Now you have to remember I was pretty emotionally fragile. I suppose, with hindsight, that he was too. Anyway, I slugged him and within seconds we were going at it hammer and tongs - an ugly fight by any standards and one that was likely to end up with someone really hurt.

I'm not sure when it dawned on me that we weren't exactly fighting any more. Maybe when I realised half our clothes were strewn across the floor. Maybe when I started to wonder why his tears tasted so salty when his lips tasted so incredibly sweet . That's when I deliberately started to remove the rest of our clothes but my fingers were shaking so much that zips and buttons didn't seem to behave as they should and he had to help. When he started saying no, in the tone of voice most guys take as a yes, I had to pause to check it out - sexual harassment of a junior officer would end my employment faster than not signing those reports. Turned out he meant no, don't stop, or no, I don't believe this is happening,- to take my pick. Or lick. God, I was desperate, and so was he. Those on that higher plane of existence must have laughed till they cried - if they remember how to cry.

Especially when we came, simultaneously and gloriously - and both yelled the wrong, the very wrong, name , the same wrong name, at that crucial moment……

I admit I shook him, but only because he slapped my face first. The second fight was a bit half hearted. Fighting someone you've just been fucking is strange, surreal almost. Then he grabbed me - by the shoulders, not the balls, though I wouldn't have blamed him. I was surprised at how strong he was - and how gentle at the same time. This time, when I came, I managed to whisper the right name and his eyes shone.

I suppose at some point we must have decided the floor was a hard resting-place, and gone in search of the bed. I vaguely remember showering, taking three times as long as necessary because we showered together and couldn't stop touching. I groaned when I remembered previous showers à deux - with that slimy two timing slut who was presumably grinning at us from his higher plane. (How could someone who treated us like that reach a higher plane anyway?)

The bed was soft, but tired as we were, neither of us got much sleep. All my recollections are hazy, but I know that although we were hot and sticky we were entangled in heaven. When I woke up properly, I kind of assumed he'd be there.

He was standing at the door, already in his uniform, that damned briefcase dangling from those long sensitive fingers. There was a smell of freshly made coffee and a hint of toast.

"What, where, why…?"I managed to mumble.  
"At least you didn't ask who!" he responded, grinning.  
He assured me he had to leave. He had to be back at his desk by noon and was already cutting it fine.  
"OK, when?" I croaked and his eyes were like stars.

I'm due back at the workplace tomorrow. We all are. Rested, revived, ready to go. So they're all going to wonder why I'm even worse tempered than usual. And I can hardly tell them the situation will only improve when a certain bittersweet junior officer (of the decidedly wrong gender) is sent to us again from the Pentagon. So if anyone asks why I'm miserable, all I can say (and mean, in every sense) is - blame Daniel.

Finis


End file.
